Sweat
by 2ScarletRibbons
Summary: Henry Townshend makes an unpleasant discovery of sorts in the Water Tower. Something I came up with when I first began playing in the water tower.


Title: Sweat  
Author: FuneralRoses & MusesTear  
Disclaimer: Character's and setting do NOT belong to me, I'm poor. You won't get anything off me even if you did sew.  
Rating: PG-13  
A/N: Remember, this is my FIRST SH fiction and it was written by me and a friend during nationals, where we had no computer access, so we were bored and combined. It became this, this sad thing I'm calling a fiction.

Henry lay at the bottom of the ladder, water steadily dripping onto his face, with the smell of rust and blood assaulting his nose. Some distance away those freaky wall monsters were causing their loud roars to reverberate throughout the metal halls of the Water Prison.  
He wasn't too concerned, they only seemed to stay in one place. It made keeping track of them easier. And in this place, this world, it was a God given respite.  
He sighed, still trying to catch his breath where he lay. He'd only fallen because his water slicked shoes had slipped on the rungs of the rusty red ladder.  
Damn ladder!  
And damn those holes too!  
And those chains!  
If it hadn't been for those blasted chains on his door, he would NEVER have climbed through that damn hole! And therefore would have never got his shoes wet, so that he would not have slipped on that damn ladder!  
Well, wasn't that just his luck?!  
And so, here he lay on the cold, wet floor of this cylindrical circus house. Out of breath, and in pain.  
Wait, pain?  
Straightening up, Henry noticed for the first time what his ranting brain had missed.  
He was bleeding.  
Now, how could that have happened? He'd expected a sprained ankle or an ugly bruise at most. After all, he'd only fallen somewhat of a short distance. He'd been at about the middle of the ladder when he'd slipped, hadn't he?  
And there was nothing around which he could have cut his legs on. Maybe the weapons he was carrying?  
No, they were too blunt. So, what could he have--  
"Hello, Henry."  
Startled, Henry jumped straight into the ladder, hitting his head on the rusty rungs, opening a cut on his forehead. Well, that explained the blood.  
There was a deep, near throaty sound emanating from somewhere. Lifting the hand cradling his head, he caught sight of a tall blonde male in a blue trench coat. The sound, he realized, was the man's laughter.  
Almost as soon as he realized that, the laughter quit.  
"You opened the doors."  
What? What doors? Wait a minute!  
"Were you trapped in a cell too?"  
"Me? No, no I could never be trapped here. Again..."  
The man's green eyes bore a far-off look, yet still remained sharp and watchful.  
Something about that watchfulness was familiar, in a wrong kind-of way. It made Henry shift nervously, fidgeting from one side to another. And through it all, the man was still watching him, only he now had a broad toothy grin on his face. He looked like a fox, one that had got away with the entire chicken coop. As if reading his thoughts, the man's smile became broader and he licked his lips slowly, as his eyes roamed unashamed down Henry's body.  
"s-So, what's your name?"  
The man's eyes bore into Henry, no longer roaming.  
"If you don't know that by now, you will. Soon enough, Henry."  
Henry's eyes widened, "How do you know my name? I don't recall giving it to you. And besides that, if you know my name, then shouldn't I know yours? Have we met before?"  
A dark and lustful laughter took hold of the blondes wine-dark eyes.  
"You know my name, Henry. You just don't realize it yet."  
"How can I-- never mind. Clearly I'll just be going in circles with you."  
Another fox-like grin, "Yes, circles."  
"Huh? You are... so confusing! I can't-- You refuse to answer my questions!"  
The blondes head tilts to the right, his greasy hair stringing down half his face, covering all but one eye and half his crooked grin. "Which question, Receiver?"  
"The fir--wait, what? No, I-- Receiver? What? h--How do you know my name?"  
The man frowned, " I fail to see how that matters, Receiver."  
Henry begins to back away, seeing now that this man might just be another loon in this Hell. "I think I'll just be going then."  
The man straightens up, a vicious glare distorting his once semi-beautiful face.  
"I don't think so Receiver."  
Before he can blink, he's crushed into the wall beside the ladder. Through a clouded mind he feels warm breath creeping up his neck, rough chapped lips caressing his ear before giving way to the nibbling of teeth. A spike shudders through his body as dark laughter floats into his ear.  
"I've waited so long for you. And now that you're here, I will never let you go."  
Fear that had been slow to make its way through him, is now rushing through his body like water off a cliff. He tries to fight back, but a hand is hold both of his wrists in a vice, and its partner is playing with the tops of his jeans.  
"W-What are you doing?!"  
"What do you think I'm doing?"  
If it hadn't been clear to Henry before, the inflection in the man's voice said it all.  
A sharp tug on his jeans, followed by a resonating snapping and tearing sound cuts off further conversation.  
Angling his head to see down his own body, Henry is greeted by shock and disgust when he can do nothing but watch as a large hand makes its way into his torn jeans and underwear.  
"No, s-stop!"  
A wet pressure descending his neck is his only answer, and the sound of pleasured moaning fills his ears.  
"Get your damn hands off of me!!"  
All movement ceases, and Henry wonders if the man his come to his senses. His hand is only a scant few centimeters above very traitorous flesh. He opens his eyes, unaware that he'd even closed them, and is immediately met with those of blondes liquid-fire eyes. The next thing he knew he was turned and slammed against the same wall, his pants tangled around his ankles.  
"What--"  
"Shut up! I'm tired of waiting. If you don't want to play, fine, that's your own problem."  
Before any further protest could be made, Henry felt a hand pushing his right leg up and apart, leaving him awkwardly arrested by his pants.  
But that was nothing compared to the flesh pressing in on him from behind. His breathing heightened and sweat rolled off of him like rain. There was a loud sound ringing around the prison, drowning out the roar of the monsters.  
Jumping, Henry could still hear the sound, his eyes widening with uncontrolled fear and pain, blinded by his sweat.  
He was screaming.  
Screaming in the darkness of his apartment' single bedroom.  
"When will the dreams stop?"  
If only he knew.

"Ordinary morality is for ordinary people..."  
---Aleister Crowley*

*Special thanks to kagome002 for telling me who the quote belonged to ~.^


End file.
